


The Way Friends Do

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 15:58:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2738393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Grinch comes to Jackson and he's wearing checkered pants.  This is my Down the Chimney Affair gift for Sparky955.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way Friends Do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sparky955](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparky955/gifts).



_You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch, You really are a heel, You're as cuddly as a cactus, you're as charming as an eel, Mr. Grinch, You're a bad banana with a greasy black peel!_

Napoleon picked up the plastic sack and looked around for an available employee. All of them were busy helping customers. He needed someone to take out the trash.

“Well, I guess I’m someone.” He hefted the bag up. Filled with discarded paper plates, cups and plastic utensils, it weighed next to nothing. Rather than carrying it through his crowded store, he slipped out the front door and followed Vinea’s wrap around porch to the back.

The day had been pleasantly mild for a December day, but now that the sun dipped behind the trees, it was getting nippy. Napoleon used the rail to maneuver the stairs, just in case they were slippery. Now that he was past fifty-five, he was very concerned about falling. Let them say what they wanted. Napoleon Solo was not going to break a leg or a hip pretending he was still twenty.

Vinea’s green dumpster was plenty full and Napoleon glanced over at Taste’s bins. It took him all of thirty seconds to make his decision and he quickly crossed the path and tossed the bag in. Illya would never know.

 _Or care_ , Napoleon thought. The man had been running on fumes since before Thanksgiving. How Illya was going to make it through three more weeks of holiday season was beyond Napoleon’s comprehension. He was practically the walking dead now.

Napoleon turned to leave and his nose caught the harsh scent of tobacco.

“I can’t believe it. Making us frigging work all Saturday and Sunday! Who the hell does he think he is?” Napoleon didn’t recognize the voice, but it sounded young. He smiled ruefully. They all sounded young these days.

“Our boss.”

“More like the Grinch!” There was a pause and the smell of cigarette smoke increased. “He has no right.”

“What does it matter? So Chef wants us to come in an hour earlier. Big deal. The pay’s good.”

“He’s a freaking Grinch! He wouldn’t know Christmas good will if it bit him on the ass.”

Napoleon had to give the young man that. Illya wasn’t much when it came to celebrating Christmas; he never had been, even when they were younger. Napoleon would drag him home to Vermont or to Aunt Amy’s and Illya always seemed to enjoy himself, but he never made merry without the proper motivation. Napoleon realized the speaker was still going on.

“… have rights! I have needs! He has no business springing stuff like that on us.”

“Dude, we’re seasonal help. That gives him every right. Every extra hour is money in our pockets.”

“You’re gonna cave and do it, aren’t you? You gutless rat turd.”

“Hey, watch your mouth! I want to keep this job, not like the other ten you’ve gotten us fired from.”

“Then enjoy yourself. I quit.”

“In the middle of your shift? That shows real maturity, man.”

“Screw you!”

The kid came around the dumpster and saw Napoleon. A deer caught in headlights had nothing on this guy and he practically fell over himself to hurry away. His friend followed and hesitated.

“You want to tell me what this is about?” Napoleon kept his tone light and non-judgmental.

“It’s about knowing when to grow up.” The young man was wearing a stained apron. Napoleon guessed he was one of the college students Illya had recently hired. “And knowing what you want out of life. I don’t want to dig ditches.”

“Well, I’ve dug a few in my life and I would have to agree with you.”

“You, Mr. Solo?”

“You know who I am?” Napoleon was pleasantly surprised.

“Everyone knows who you are, Mr. Solo.”

“Then you have the advantage, Mr.?”

“Jennings. Tommy Jennings.” They shook hands and then Tommy looked in the direction of his friend and made a rude noise. “He’s such an idiot. Guess I better go tell Chef,”

“Why don’t you wait a bit? Your friend might cool down and come to his senses. Unless he’s climbed through a hedge, he is in the parking lot. Let me talk to him.”

Napoleon watched Tommy walk back towards the kitchen before turning back to Vinea.

When he got to the porch, he saw a silhouette of someone sitting on the entrance’s broad steps.

He walked over and sat down, then looked up. The stars were already starting to push their way through into the darkening sky.

“The first time I came to Jackson, it was the night sky that amazed me,” he said conversationally.

“I’m too busy for that.” Yet Napoleon could see the boy’s profile tilted up to the sky.

“I had lived in New York for so long, I’d forgotten what stars looked like.” It was true. Even as a young man Napoleon had been too worried about staying alive to stargaze.

“You heard all of that, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“You think I’m making a mistake?”

“I think slinking away like a beaten dog shows a flaw in character, yes. It takes a lot to stay and fight and nothing to abandon the ship. After a while, running away gets to be your only option.”

“Wait, I know you. You act with my dad over in the Jackson playhouse.”

“I do.” That helped to confirm Napoleon’s suspicions that along with the jutting chin and sharp cheekbones. “You are Hank’s son.”

“Fred.”

“Well, Fred, I know it seems like hanging out with your friends and doing cool things is really important.”

“You are going to tell me that work is more important. I was washing dishes and hauling garbage. How is that important?”

“It’s like we say in the theatre, there are no small parts, just small actors.” Napoleon drew in a deep breath and smiled. “You have to be able to balance work and play. You will find that you enjoy your play more if you have to work for it.”

“What do you know about it?”

“More than you think.” Napoleon spared the young man a brief glance before returning to the stars. “Tell you what, how long is your contract with Chef?”

“Until classes start up.”

“And you are in the culinary program?”

“Yeah.”

“Wouldn’t it be better for your career to be able to list Taste on your resume than not?”

“Yeah.”

“Wouldn’t it be good to list Chef as a reference?”

“Well, yeah.”

“And wouldn’t it be nice to have some money to spend on a certain someone than to offer an excuse of being broke?”

“Of course, but—“

“Then answer me one last question, have you ever seen Chef not working as hard, if not harder than you?” There was no answer and Napoleon looked back over. He could see wetness on Fred’s cheeks. “I know how hard it is to work for Chef. Why do you think I started my own place?” That drew a half-stifled laugh. “I also know that there’s not a better man to have at your back when you need him. You do right by Chef and he’ll be in your corner to the end. He could open a lot of doors for you.”

Fred wiped his hand over his eye and cheek. “It’s too late now.”

“No, it isn’t.” Napoleon clapped him on the shoulder.   “Come on.”

They walked back to Taste’s kitchen and Napoleon braced himself. Even in the winter, the kitchen was like an oven. He could hear Illya shouting from twenty paces away and saw Fred balk.

“It’s okay. Trust me.” Napoleon opened the door and was surprised to see Illya on the other side. Illya only had eyes for his employee.

“There you are! Your break was ten minutes, not half an hour!” Illya barked and then seemed to realize Napoleon was standing there as well.

“I’m sorry, _Amante_. I borrowed your young man for a few minutes. My back isn’t as young as it used to be.”

“If you need help, do what I do and hire it instead of poaching my workers.”

Napoleon saw Fred actually pale and he smiled. “Why should I do that when yours are so much more convenient?” He waved at Tommy, who lifted a soapy hand in return.

Illya watched the exchange and shook his head. “Napoleon, what am I going to do with you?” Illya looked at Fred. “What are you waiting for? Go!”

Fred hurried away and Illya wiped his hands on a towel. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Nope.” Napoleon’s grin grew larger.

Illya tried to hide his smile. “Then get out of my kitchen.”

Napoleon was tempted to kiss Illya, but knew better.   Instead he hurried back to Vinea. He slipped into the front door with some locals, laughing and chatting with them.

“There you are!” Candace came up to him, her hair decorated with ribbons.

“You look like a Christmas present.”

“You should have let someone else take out the trash, Mr. Solo,” she chastised.

“You were all busy and I wasn’t. No small jobs.” He studied the store and walked up to an older man who seemed frozen in place. Nodding to her, Napoleon waltzed through the crowd to his side. “May I help you, sir?”

The man glared at him for a moment. “Yeah, I gotta take wine to my daughter’s Christmas party and I can’t find anything that don’t taste like horse piss.”

“Well, let’s see what I can do to fix that. What are your feelings on cow piss?”

For a moment the man just stared, then he chuckled. “You got balls. I like you.”

“Excellent, now let’s see what we can find.”

                                                            ******

Illya Kuryakin pushed open his front door and took one step inside. There was a time not long ago when he’d have staggered to the couch and collapsed, clothes and all. Now, as exhausted as he was, one last obstacle faced him. If it wasn’t for the reward at the top, Illya wasn’t sure how he’d make it.

Closing and locking the door behind him, Illya kicked off his shoes. Immediately Buerre Noir was there, rolling over the sneakers and purring loudly.  She stuck her head into one and did a backflip onto it.

“You know, most cats get that way from catnip, not sweaty sneakers.”  He gave her a pet and half- staggered to the stairs.  “Maybe I could use some of that now.”

Instead, drawing upon his inner fortitude and just plain stubbornness, Illya climbed the stairs.  He was tempted to drop to his hands and knees and crawl, but then he would have to get back up and that was beyond even his ability tonight.

As he went, he unbuttoned his stained chef’s coat and shrugged it off.  As he entered the bedroom, he tossed the jacket into the laundry basket and made it to the bed. 

Napoleon had already flipped back the covers and Illya collapsed happily onto the cool linen, closing his eyes in sheer ecstasy.  He smiled as gentle fingers began to tangle his damp hair and then an equally gentle kiss found his lips.  This had made the trip up the stairs worth the effort. 

“You’re not going to sleep in your clothes,” Napoleon murmured.

“I might.”

“I’ll tell everyone you sleep in checked pants.”

Illya opened his eyes. “Anyone who matters already knows.”  Even so, he got up and made his way to the bathroom.  Fifteen minutes later, he returned, skin scrubbed clean, hair damp from the shower and wearing nothing but a tired expression.

“Better?”  He plumped his pillows and sank back onto them, a weary smile on his face.

“Much.”  Napoleon sat up and grabbed something from the nightstand.  “And this is your reward.  Open up.”

“I thought you were my reward,” Illya murmured as he opened his mouth.  Something was popped into it and he chewed, his eyes growing wider with each second.  “What is that?”

“Cranberry mustard on a smoky gouda.”  Napoleon grinned happily and helped himself to some.  “A customer brought this in to us.”

“Who is it?  What’s the manufacturer?”  Illya took a second piece, less cheese and more mustard.  “This would be incredible on pork… or turkey!  We could do—“

Napoleon kissed him soundly.  “Tonight, just enjoy it.  All the contact information is on your desk.  Tomorrow… well, later today actually, you can think.  Right now, just revel in the moment.”  Napoleon passed him a glass of wine.  “Try it with this.”

Illya sipped and nodded.  “That would work, although maybe a sauvignon, something smoky.”  He helped himself to more, his expression distant.

“Illya, tomorrow?”

“Later today actually.”  Illya grinned.  “I understand you kept one of my new hires from quitting tonight.  Thank you.”

“He just needed a little pep talk.  When you are his age, everything is in the immediate and you think nothing will wait for you.”

“Delayed gratification.  It was the only thing that got me through _Monsieur_ Gruvuleaux’s advanced biochemistry class.”

“He felt you were being unfair and a Grinch.”

“A what?”

“Illya, how long have you lived in this country?”

“Too long, I fear.”

“And you’ve never seen _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_?”

“When is it on?”

“At Christmas time… at night… when you are…”

“Exactly.”  Illya finished his wine and set the glass aside.  “What does this Grinch fellow and I have in common?”

“He hated Christmas because he couldn’t see past the commercialism to the message of peace on earth, good will towards men.”

“I have over a dozen scars gained in the pursuit of peace on Earth.”  Illya scooted down on the bed and stretched out his frame, wincing.  “There are few men who worked harder at achieve good will towards men.  You know that.”

“I do and it’s one of the reasons why I love you.”

“Uh… and I thought it was because of my enormous--”

“Illya!”

“Ability to cook,” Illya finished, grinning.  “I don’t ask them to work any harder than I do.”

“I know and I explained that to him.”

“You are so good with people.”  Illya yawned and stretched again.  Napoleon’s voice was taking on a pleasant sing song quality.

“It’s easy.  Put yourself in their place.  All most people want is a smile, a sense that you are willing to listen and some respect.  Give them that and you’re already halfway there.  Illya, what do you think about doing a…”

Illya never did find out what Napoleon suggested.  He was eagerly pursuing Mr. Sandman.

 

                                                                                *****

 

Napoleon woke and turned his head first to his right and then the left.  The right revealed an empty bed, a pillow pushed up against Napoleon to replace a warm body.  The left revealed that it was nearly nine and time for him to be up and functioning.

Coming down the stairs, Napoleon was startled to see Illya sitting at his desk, shuffling papers back and forth.

“I’d thought you’d be at Taste,” Napoleon said by way of a greeting.  He kissed the bowed blond head.  “Did you leave me some coffee?”

“Some.”

Napoleon headed for the kitchen and immediately found himself with an escort.  Moutard rubbed against the black slacks, leaving behind a streak of white.  “How is it that you are always manage shed when I’m wearing black?”

He poured himself some coffee and glanced out the window.  It was gray and nasty looking.  The trees were losing their leaves at a brisk rate and Napoleon could feel the chill of the wind from the toasty warm kitchen.  In short it was a good day to stay in.  Thankfully it was Monday and both Taste and Vinea were closed for the next two days.  It would be their last mutually shared days off until Christmas was over and done with.

Napoleon was a Christmas fanatic.  He loved the decorations, the shopping, the sense of good will, but he hated the toll it took on Illya.  Making a decision, he picked up his cup and returned to the living room.

“So what are your plans for today?”

“Plans?”

Illya sounded odd and that made a small coil of tension in Napoleon’s stomach tighten.  “Illya, what’s wrong?”

“Am I really this bad?”  Illya pushed a sheet of paper towards Napoleon and looked out the window.

Napoleon put on his reading glasses and glanced at the words.  It was the lyrics to _You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch._ Napoleon didn’t need to read the song.  He knew the hurtful content of them

“What?  Of course not.  How could you even asked that?  Where did you get this?”

“It was on the mat this morning along with the paper.”

“How do you know it was meant for you?”

“Napoleon, you are a Christmas junkie and the entire town of Jackson knows it. Hell, the entire county does.  Besides, it was addressed to me.”

“And to think I asked him to stay.  That little… ingrate.”

“Who?”

“Fred.  He was complaining that you were a Grinch to his buddy Tommy Jennings.”  Illya, his brow deeply furrowed, looked at Napoleon.

“Who?”

“Your new kitchen help.”

“The college kids.”  Illya nodded.  “The reason I picked them was because they are both tops in the culinary program.  I didn’t think either would mind the work, not if it got them a good reference.”

“Fred lost sight of that and I urged him to stay on.  I think I’ll go have a little talk with him.”

“Napoleon, I do not need you to fight my battles.”  Illya crumpled the sheet of paper and tossed it away.

“I just--”

“I know, my love.  But I am quite capable of handling my staff.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know, but I have two days to contemplate it.  Revenge is like ceviche.”

“Spicy?”

“Best cold.”  There was a hard edge to Illya’s voice that bothered Napoleon and he reached out to capture Illya’s chin.  This man had once been a killer and not deprogrammed.  Illya’s mind held countless weapons.  “What?”

“He’s just a kid.”

“I’m not going to gut him, Napoleon.  Those days are behind me.  I have something much different in mind.”

“Then hold that thought and let’s go back to bed.”

“I’ve had four cups of coffee.  I’m not sleepy.”

“Sleep is the last thing on my mind.”

                                                                                *****

 

Napoleon whistled along with the holiday music.  While Vinea was always busy, it was presently bursting at the seams.  People were coming to sample, purchase and linger.  Napoleon had to admit that perhaps he’d made the store too comfortable.

He’d escaped to the backroom for a moment’s peace and Matt came in carrying a large service platter of **__hors d'oeuvres__ _._**

**_“Piping hot from our ovens.  Where would you like these,_ __Cara_ _ _?”  Matt set the sheet down and shook the towels he was using as potholders to cool them off before picking up the sheet pan again._ **

_**“The holding oven, I guess.”** _

**_Matt slipped the large pan into the oven and turned back.  “What is wrong, Napoleon?  You sound_** _stanco di_ _anima_.”

“My soul is a little weary, Matt.  It’s not just work.  I’m worried about Illya.”

“ _Si,_ he is very... _spinto_.”

“Driven is close.”

“Chef does not want to see anyone disappointed, so he pushes.  Too hard, I think.”

“Too hard, I know.”  Napoleon thought back to just last night when Illya tossed and turned, unable to shut his mind off.  “I’ve never seen him quite this.. um, focused.  When he’s like this, I just worry.”

Matt grinned.  “You should try working with him, _Cara_.”

“Been there, done that.  I have the scars to prove it.”  Napoleon slipped an arm around Matt’s shoulders and took him into the very back of the room.  “How is he doing with the kitchen help, the, uh, college kids?”

“Not bad.  Young Fred has really turned around and is doing his best.  His friend seems to be in direct competition... “

“What are you not saying?”

“There have been... things.  _Come si dice_ _?_ The ginch?”

“The Grinch?”

 _“Si, si_!  First it was pictures, then a small _fingurina_.”

“Do you know who’s doing it?”

“No, Chef he just throws them out, but I can tell, inside, _egli piange_.”

“Enough of this!”  Napoleon started to leave, but Matt caught his arm. 

“This is not the time, _Cara._ ” 

“Now **is** the time, Matt.”

“It would be better, would it not, to catch the _colpevole_ in the act?”

That stopped Napoleon.   “What do you have in mind?”

“Tonight, after Taste is closed, we lay a trap and catch a villian.”

“That sounds exactly like what we should do.  When did you become so devious?”

Matt patted Napoleon’s cheek.  “Long ago, I fell in with a bad crowd and never left.”

                                                                *****

It had been a long time since he’d done an evening stakeout and the cold crept into every joint of his body.  He had to straighten and move slightly just to keep from freezing up.

There was movement and for just an instance, a silhouette betrayed itself.  The time was now and he moved, supercharged with a jolt of adrenaline.

He tackled the figure, hearing the mutual grunts as they hit the ground and rolled.

 _“Cara,_ surely if you are that in need of sex, you could just ask your husband, _si_?”

Illya froze at Matt’s voice and he focused upon the body beneath him.  “Napoleon?”

“In the bruised flesh.”

“What are you doing?”  Illya rolled off Napoleon and helped him to his feet.

“Trying to put an end to this nonsense.  You?”

“The same, but a bit less enthusiastically than a few minutes earlier.”

“Uh, my friends, a bit less discussion.  I think someone else approaches.”

The trio crouched back down and watched a solitary figure make its way across the parking lot and up to the porch of the house Napoleon and Illya shared.  Something was dropped in front of the door and it turned to leave.

“I’d stop if I were you.”  Illya stood in the figure’s path.

“Who’s going to stop me, Old Man?  You?”  The voice was muffled by the ski mask.

“Yes.  All these years of cooking has given me considerable upper  body strength and when you consider my hands are licensed weapons on five continents, it would be smarter to not resist.”  Then Napoleon and Matt appeared at Illya’s flanks.  “Oh, and I brought some help.”

The figure feinted right and started to run, but Illya tackled him easily.  There was a flurry of arms and legs and out of the corner of his eye, Illya saw Matt take a step. Then Napoleon grabbed Matt’s arm and shook his head.

“It’s his moment, Matt.  Let him have it.”

“Thanks,” Illya muttered and pinned the figure to the frozen ground.  “Napoleon, would you be good enough to unmask our villian?”

“It would be my pleasure.  Okay, Fr---“ Napoleon started and then stopped.  It was not the suspected person, but rather his best friend.  “Tommy?”

“Yeah, what about it?”    The voice, though defiant, was shaky.

Illya stood and yanked Tommy to his feet.  “You want to tell me what this is all about before I have you arrested?”

“I’m not breaking the law or anything!”

“Trespassing, harassment, and a few more that I can come up with if I put my mind to it.”  Illya’s voice was tight with anger.  “But more than just annoying me, why were you setting Fred up for the fall?”

“Why?  He’s Daddy’s golden boy.  He’s always gotten everything handed to him and he’s never had to work a minute in his life.”

“Unless you are blind, he’s been working very hard  the last few weeks.”

“Don’t I know it.  You want to know what he has to say about you behind your back?”

“Nothing.  I haven’t said anything since my first blow up.”

They turned and Fred was standing there.  “I thought you might be behind this, Tommy.  I thought we were friends.”

“Get a life.  Yeah, I’ve know you since we were kids, but we’ve never been friends!”

“But I started the culinary program because you suggested it.”

“I thought you’d bomb out the first semester, but you kiss assed right up to the teacher.  You and your Daddy’s money!  Buying the program those convection ovens.   You made sure you never had to worry about that next A.”

“It wasn’t like that.  Dad was just so pleased that I’d found something I was good at, that he wanted to thank Chef Dempsey.”  Fred took a deep breath.  “And you’re wrong.  I worked hard for every A I got.”

“Yeah, right.  Just like you sucked up to Chef’s squeeze to make sure you could screw around and not worry about a thing.”

“You’re wrong.  You are so fu---“

“Enough,” Napoleon said, firmly.  “We’ve heard enough.”

“I’ll send your check to the address in the file.  I don’t want you here any longer.  If I see you again, I will have you arrested, please believe that.”  Illya pointed.  “Now, get the hell out of here.”

 

                                                                                ****

Wearily, Illya closed his eyes and listened to the Christmas music and the merriment.  It felt odd to actually have a moment to stop and listen.  The last few weeks had been busy, but the past week had bordered upon insanity.  They would remember this year  as their most successful to date.  Illya just wished it didn’t take so much out of him.

Yet, here it was Christmas Eve.  Taste was now closed for a week to give everyone a chance to catch their breath and give them time with their friends and family.  It was also time that Illya desperatedly needed.  He planned to spend much of the next day sleeping and not doing anything.  If only Napoleon would cooperate.

Around him, his staff  and Vinea’s were laughing, eating and just enjoying themselves.  Gifts, the result of the Secret Santa, were eliciting loud yells of disbelief and hilarity.  The food and the wine were flowing and good will was the order of the day.

Illya felt someone sit next to him and knew without opening his eyes that it was Napoleon.  He could claim that it was an inner sixth sense that he’d carefully cultivated all these years, but in all honesty, it was the aftershave.  It was Illya’s favorite.  Something brushed his hand and a glass was pressed into it.

“I don’t know if I should drink anything.  I might well fall asleep,” Illya said, opening an eye.  Napoleon, festive in a red Santa hat festooned with holly, grinned.

“Why do you think I’m offering it to you?  Another five minutes and I’m going to have to carry you home.”

“You?”

“With some help from younger backs.”

Illya sipped the wine and sat up in the chair.  “We lived.”

“We did and it looks like most everyone survived intact.”

“With the exception of Tommy.” 

“That was bad business.”  Napoleon took a careful sip from his highball glass and sighed.  “Who could have known he’d be harboring such resentment all these years.”

“You can’t and that’s the problem.  He thought Fred had it all, when, in fact, he didn’t.”  Illya touched Napoleon’s brow, rubbing away the frown.  “He was so envious of the relationship that Fred had with his parents that he couldn’t see the truth.”

“A little like the Grinch.”  Fred sat down beside Illya.  “I am truly sorry about everything that happened.  Had I known that one crack would cause you such a world of hurt...”

“I’m just sorry I wasted all that energy being angry at you.  You are a good worker and I will be happy to write you a letter of recommendation  when you are ready.”

“I was sort of hoping for a job application instead.  A year in a working kitchen of Taste’s reputation would do me a world of good.”

“Graduate the program and come find me.”  Illya offered the young man his hand.

“I was hoping you’d say that, Chef, because I have a present for you.”  He gestured over his shoulder and two young men, one with a guitar, joined him.

All around people realized something was happening and Fred cleared his throat.

_You’re a great one, Mr. K._

_You really are the tops._

_You’re tough and hard, but it’s all right, Mr. K._

_You pull out all the  stops._

_You’re a genius, Mr K._

_You never stop to ask._

_You never rest, you never pause, you’re a machine, Mr. K._

_You are up to any task._

_I want to thank you, Mr. K._

_It’s really been a scream._

_No days off, no time to rest, I’m ready to collapse, Mr. K._

_The only thing I can think to say is_

_Merci, bon voyage, and adeiu._

 

Fred stopped singing and looked at Illya with a hopeful expression.  The Russian bowed his head, shoulders shaking.  Concerned, Napoleon touched his forearm.

 “Illya, it was meant in jest.”

 Illya leaned back, laughing.  “I know.  It’s wonderful.”  The room gave a collective sigh of relief and Illya stood, offering Fred his hand.  “Thank you.  And now if you will excuse me, I think it’s time for this Grinch to crawl into his cave for a few hours.”

 A song started playing and Napoleon got to his feet as well.  “I think first, a bit of a circle on the dance floor.”

 “I am very tired, Napoleon.” Illya protested even as Napoleon offered him a hand.

 “If you don’t mind me asking, Chef, who leads?”  Fred seemed very earnest and Illya smiled affectionately at Napoleon, then back to the young man. 

“I’ve been following his lead for years.  I’d be a fool to stop now.”

Napoleon led him to the center of the tiny space that had been cleared in the dining room.  Tony Bennett’s rendition of _The Christmas Waltz_ started to play and Illya settled contentedly in Napoleon’s arms.

“I really am very tired,” Illya murmured as they moved.

 “Just a few minutes and then I will tuck you into bed.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

 “My word, _Amante_.  I know how tired you are because I know how tired I am.  When are Matt and Rocky showing up tomorrow?”

“Around three.  Apps and cocktails with the stockings, then dinner and finally presents and dessert.”

“Sound good.  Are you going to give me a hint about what to pour?”

“I will, eventually.”  They continued to move to the music, lost to each other's arms.

Outside the snow glistened like a million Earth-trapped stars and wished the world a Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.


End file.
